From the Darkest Nights Come the Brightest Dawns
by WritingxEqualsxHappiness
Summary: Sherlock goes to Molly's flat in the middle of the night to apologize for the past and for the future. Inspired by the Mumford and Sons song Reminder. Oneshot. Sherlolly.


**My first attempt to write for Sherlock, here we go! Possibly slightly OOC, but enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I'm not brilliant enough to own anything to do with Sherlock.**

* * *

**From the Darkest Nights Come the Brightest Dawns**

He stood on the sidewalk and stared up at the light filtering through curtains at the second floor window. He felt fidgety, yet he stood completely still, rooted to the spot as his feelings and his rationality waged a bitter war to the death on the lawn of his Mind Palace. Never before had he experienced such hesitation. The outcome of his mental war would permanently alter his life, no matter which side emerged victorious. He would either turn around and go home, having written off what could very possibly be the only person willing to embrace every aspect of his personality, or he would go inside and free the deeply repressed emotions and desires from their dingy cell in the dungeon, where they could never again be imprisoned.

It began to rain, and then it began to pour, and his rationality slipped and fell in the mud and, blinded, succumbed to the force of his feelings. He blinked rainwater from his eyes, ducked his head, and walked briskly up to the door to Molly's flat. His fingers formed a fist, and hovered in front of the wood before he steeled himself for the onslaught of unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensations.

His knuckles made contact with the door once, twice, three times, and then he replaced his hand at his side to wait.

"I'm coming," came from within the flat, and Sherlock found himself swallowing and huffing his breath out in preparation for the door to open. He did not appreciate being left to stew in his foreign anxiety for another second.

Before he could formulate an explanation as to his unannounced visit, the door opened slowly and revealed a confused Molly. She was in a pale pink terrycloth robe with pajama pants covered in yellow ducks sticking out from beneath it. The scent of chamomile lingered around her—she must have had a stressful day and had some tea to relax.

"Oh! Sherlock. What are, um, what are you doing here so late?" she stammered in surprise.

"It's raining. May I come in?" he requested, nothing in his voice or his facial expression giving any of his thoughts away.

"Oh, uh, yes, come in." She opened the door wider and stepped aside. He brushed past her and right away began to pace back and forth in her kitchen as she shut and locked the door. "Make yourself comfortable, I guess." Her hands twisted with each other as she waited for him to give his reason for calling at so late an hour. It couldn't be anything good.

Sherlock halted his pacing on a pass that took him farthest away from her in the small kitchen. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again, took a breath, and then spoke.

"Molly, I have come to understand the sacrifice you have given to help me," he said. He looked all around her kitchen as he spoke, pretending to analyze it when in fact he was quite terrified to look in her eyes and gain confirmation of the conclusions he'd arrived at on his own. "I know that you recently turned down a gentleman's request for a date and, when questioned by a colleague, told her that you were caught up in hoping that I would one day come around."

Molly felt the heat in her cheeks, both from embarrassment that he had found out about what she'd said and from anger at Mary and John for letting it get to him, no matter how pure their intentions might have been.

"I came here tonight to inform you of my intent to ask if you would get coffee with me." Molly blinked, not quite sure if she was asleep and dreaming or not. "Contrary to the widely held conviction that I am incapable of human emotion and sentiment, I have come to recognize that I feel differently about you than anyone else."

"But…I thought you were…asexual?" Molly wanted to curl into a ball and become invisible. What a stupid thing to say! She felt the heat in her cheeks grow into a wildfire over her entire face.

"Incorrect," Sherlock said quickly. "I have said that I am married to my work, never that I am asexual." One side of his lips turned upward in amusement as he stepped closer to her. He looked her directly in the eyes and the light in them that was usually only present as he solved a great puzzle surprised her. "Perhaps there are things more fulfilling than the work, things that reach the farthest corners of my person in a way the work cannot. I am a human man, Molly. I experience emotion and sensation, although I choose to conceal it because it does not contribute to the work. Recently I have found it harder to do that and it is because of you."

"Oh," Molly recoiled, and Sherlock looked away at the floor. "I'm sorry, I never meant—"

"You have done nothing wrong," he interrupted. "I didn't come here to accuse you." His eyes came back to hers. "I want to apologize for the many times I've hurt you. I've hurt you often, but you still return when I need you. If I told you that I would spend the rest of my life hurting you, would you still want to be with me?"

Molly was having trouble adjusting to the turn this visit had taken. Unsure how to answer him, she decided blunt honesty was probably a safe bet. "Of course. You don't mean to hurt me, because you never know when you do it."

"I have never considered how my words would affect other people in the past," he agreed. "I hope you are willing to give me more chances to change that in the future."

"Of course. I know how this makes me sound, but I'll always give you another chance," Molly whispered. She stepped towards him, and he looked down at her hand at her side before he reached out with his and touched his slender fingers to hers. He trailed his fingers up her arm, over her shoulder, and onto the side of her neck to brush her lower jaw. He searched her eyes; her pupils were dilated, but trust was still visibly shining there.

"I might never know when I do something wrong," he said quietly. "You may grow tired of being hurt and leave."

"I won't," she murmured, and then grinned. "If I do, you'll know where to find me. I'll leave a light on."

His lips quirked upwards in a sort of relieved half smile, and he surrendered completely to the emotions on the brink of overtaking him. For the most part he was worried about disappointing her, but there was a seed of hope and happiness in there that would surely grow with her careful tending and trust. He titled her head upwards with his hand underneath her jaw and moved down to meet her lips with his. For so many years he had deprived himself of this for fear of losing himself to the irrationality of emotions, and now with Molly he felt safe enough to know that she wouldn't take advantage of the moments when his guard was down. Her lips moved against his, and the warmth reached the farthest corners of him, the places where even the thrill of his work could never reach.


End file.
